


Dante's Inferno

by biffu, SwordofDamocles



Category: Original Work
Genre: Crack, Multi, Other, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:44:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2032338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biffu/pseuds/biffu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwordofDamocles/pseuds/SwordofDamocles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When shit happens, literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dante's Inferno

There was immense, yet simple chattering between the Seven Princes of Sin. Seven of the nine of the royals of Hell were together, whereas two were missing. They knew the reasoning behind it, and commenced whispers and chuckles flew between them, especially so because of Mephistopheles, who is another matter entirely. 

Astaroth being what he was, crowned prince of Hell was nothing less than a spoiled brat with a heart eating complex. He preferred to take them from the young and beautiful. Beauty attracted him just as much as it did Satan, and it wasn’t so much of a wonder why. Lean, healthy and able to run in the small attempts to get away made the chase all the more enjoyable; especially that of the common death to which no man could ever truly run from, but tried nonetheless. And the other, Chaos, of whom no one knew the actual name for (as why they have been calling him that for many a century, Lucifer lost the reason.) He himself was a mystery, hard to figure out; motives, plans, and what have of other things one’s mind could fathom to think of. Even the ones of pure and utter stupidity. 

As it would have it, there was actually order in the Inferno; starting with the second layer: Lust, contained by Asmodeus. Gluttony to Beelzebub, Greed to the obvious holder of all the money and it’s black market, Mammon ,Wrath to Lucifer, Sloth to Belphegor and Belial, and to the fairest of them all, and the vainest of them all, Pride to Satan and all the others that took vanity and pride to heart and ate it with a greedy, bloody maw. Within Purgatory laid Leviathan, the great serpent, watcher and torturer of the envious with his legion of demons. Limbo, for anyone else who was wondering was left under the watchful eyes of the three beasts called Man-eaters. It was suitable as for what their career and habits.

The table within the castle of the third layer, Greed. The layer of trade, black market business, torture of the souls of whom, in life were greedy themselves. The lamenting wails of their tortures hanging, ringing in the very air and then only to fade away once hit the castle walls. The very castle walls owned by the prince of Greed himself. The table seating the seven from their respectful layers, or the seven that were of ruling in those layers. There were chips of various colors; black, red, yellow, blue, purple, green, and another color that seemingly couldn’t be named by any of the patrons of this poker game. 

The dealer was Mammon, as he would never seem to gamble his own money or the numbers of his legion. The rest of course were unhappy, seemingly bored, or altogether pretending to be as uncaring as the next. They shifted in their seats, trying to gauge whether the countenance of those around them would belie their hands and help them to gain an advantage in the rounds to come, and yet there was not even a glimmer or a sparkle of hope in any of their eyes. Only six played the game, and not one of them were making as much of an effort as they could have, especially just the one…

Belial was the only one with the legion betting and he was roughly asleep at the table. Sitting up, cards in hand, unrevealing to the rest as if he were playing wide awake. He was winning, to boot. The advocate to all laziness, the literal naming of the worthless beauty, and he was certainly making his namesake proud. Beelzebub gave a slight nudge to the dark haired male once it was his turn, just slight enough to not gain a punch — A death blow at that or something simpler such as a knocking over of his chair. Cards were played, some folded and others went for the gold of getting the chips. 

The prideful Satan himself held a triumphant smile with both utter malice and accomplishment as the cards were presented in a slow reveal of the hand. “Flush.” He muttered with the slight filtering of a pompous jubilee in his gain. A stuffed snicker from another, a red head — a short wine coloring—with dark green orbs turning elsewhere as a glare from the vain demon was received. Another nudge to the sloth being next him, the cards placed on the table. The other princely figure gave a loud scoff to the hand that was placed onto the table. “Royal Flush.” This said with a straight face and rather bluntly. A ‘What the fuck’ to the hand of Belial. Gained asleep, nonetheless. Just then, as the new arrival to the layer, the newest addition to the amount of torture to be added to the pot of melted gold, a loud cha-ching sound rang throughout. The table rattled, and with a bat of an eyelash, the table was flipped over: the cards, chips and Belial with it. And yet, he somehow managed to end up the floor, face first and unmoved like a fresh corpse. 

“AAARGH! Fuck this game!” 

The Lord of Wrath, showing why he was left in the domain that ran with blood and screams of the angry; human and his kin alike stood there, where the end of the table used to be and now on its side at the Hosts’ feet. He panted slightly, circlet and hair hanging messily over his face. His agitation made him tense.

“Aw, calm down Luci. Don’t want you to lose your tiara again.” Came the chuckle from the Lord of Lust, bringing the glass of wine to his lips. Giving a short kick away from the table after saying the statement, as if predicting it would happen, Lucifer twitched at the statement of the other upon throwing his now burning cards down to the lopsided table and kicking over a chair. For lack of better words, Lucifer was more than done with his subordinates and this game, and that damn noise that was echoing out like multiple cash registers. The sound that was akin to something of multiple cash registers ringing every time a new soul was sorted into the level. Every. Single. Bloody. Time. The noise continued at a regular rate. On constant repeat. The noise would surely drive anyone insane or up the proverbial wall. 

The poker game was basically over; table flipped, cards, and chips lying about the floor and the being who was becoming one with the floor in his slumber. There was a sting of silence coming from the wrath demon as he seated himself in a designated seat before an empty space. Lucifer ran a hand over the lapel of his jacket, and through his hair. He fixed it and the circlet that was barely sitting under it and on the space of his forehead.  
Mammon giving the other an arch in his brow “Feel better?” 

“Yes.” The answer stated almost instantaneously with a firm nod and a quaint smile. “Now what?”

“Well, you could always look for Kronos, for that…What was it you were looking for?” Asmodeus stated, with a slight wave of his glass around in a small circle. 

“He’s probably fucking a book.” The groggy voice of Belial commented before falling quickly back into sleep in the same spot. 

“That task that needed to be done before that meeting from heaven.” Satan rolled his eyes going back to his previous task from before the entire game started: painting his nails a different color. This time seemed to be the same shade of dark violet to match his eyes. Dread set in on the features of the first fallen. As one could not set foot in Heaven and the other would not dare step foot in Hell. Earth was their temporary meeting field, or so it seemed to be. Wherever that could be. The possibilities of that, with taste of God and his angels were left to one thing. One place and one place alone-- 

“New Orleans, a privately set location.” The words coming on cue, as if scripted by some divine coincidence. What an irony that would be, if it happened. The silver-haired figure whom said these words, sweaty, panting and making the constant adjustments to his blindfold.  
“Kick up the table and play some more poker.”  
“You cannot avoid this meeting, sir.” Kronos said with a faint nod and placed a folder on the table once it was kicked up. Belial gave him a sleepy look before settling down again in his rightful spot.  
“I’m not touching that, and I can damn well try.” A slap of the table “Let’s play some poker.” Then Lucifer made a face as he tried, with all of his might to brush the folder in a sweeping motion away from his grabble area.  
He – they had no idea what was on the folder. Even Satan gave a faint groan to it as it landed in front of him. The only brave soul to touch it being, the one, the only Asmodeus. Who not only touched it but flipped open the pages and pushed it open to the Lord of Wrath.  
Memorized, taken down, and noted. The entire folder went up in flames. A heartbroken screech erupted from Kronos. The cards sitting before him were picked up and the game of poker started up again.  
Belial didn’t move; Satan won that game and the noise of a new soul arrival resounded. God forsaken Minos. The table was flipped once more. 

It was the start of a wondrous day. Evening. Whatever. 


End file.
